


Conjoined

by WordsAndWhiskey



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Caretaking, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, booze and wash cloths, what if Hannibal has no chance to be a pretentious prick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 05:29:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8359066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsAndWhiskey/pseuds/WordsAndWhiskey
Summary: Just some post-canon angst.Mainly Will going through various stages of acceptance regarding some rather basic stuff. And booze. Also lavender.I've had this lying around for a while and I missed them- so why I might as well share it with you.I might add a chapter when I start missing them again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I know nothing about editing, formatting or computers.  
> I drink and I DON'T know things. Ha.  
> Anyway, this was fun.
> 
> Thank you, Luc, for being my first reader and *sings GoldenGirls theme song*

Will Graham stood on the deck of a small fishing boat, breathing in the damp salty air and listened to the faint sound of the seagulls screeching closer to the shore. It was not quite morning, the black of the night sky was only beginning to fade into a cold grey. Thick fog was hanging over the sea beneath him and clouds were creeping up the horizon. The air smelled of rain and fresh earth from the coast nearby. It was going to be one of those days when you could feel the seasons shifting, a sense of fall creeping in, he thought, when everybody felt the first sting of loss because summer was over. He wrapped his arms around himself. Every fibre of his body was sore with fatigue, he had been up for about 30 hours now, not counting dozing off in a chair for a few minutes and waking up again with his heart galloping in his chest. He could hardly feel the stiffening breeze on his face anymore but he knew the wind would be perfect for traveling onward. He didn't care. Will felt oddly content. He had treated his wounds best he could with the little supplies he had and by his own judgment he didn't appear to be in any immediate danger any more. He was aware that he was risking infection, even sepsis, with every day he didn't seek proper medical attention but he was alright with that. His hair was curlier than usual, from the humidity and lack of grooming and he looked younger than he was when he looked up to watch the last stars disappear. _Some of our stars will always be the same..._

As a son of a boat mechanic and fisherman, Will had always felt at home with the ocean beneath him and the stars above. It made him feel insignificant, a minor detail of something big and beyond his grasp. He liked that feeling.

Consequently, he quite liked being dead, as well, even for the time being. The ocean had washed away his ties to the world and he was left with this peculiar feeling of contentment. Nothing but water and sky and the tides, the endless rhythm of the sea, far older then any form of civilization.

Will closed his eyes and could still feel himself falling, waiting for the crash that would end it all but it wouldn't come. It was only a matter of time. They would turn every stone, they would brush dust and blood and prints and memories off everything- and then they would hunt. They would come for him. Will sighed, bidding the stars farewell. Let them come. He was alright with that, too.

 

The three steps that led him into the belly of the boat creaked. The air inside was dry and dusty, it smelled of wood and the sea, rusty but clean. Will thought how odd it was to end up on a boat like this, after everything. How he knew this life on the sea so well, how much the way he moved in this confined space reminded him of his father. How little it meant to him now. He wasn't a part of that story anymore, he felt no connection to the memories his mind dug up. He was dead and whatever came after that hadn't begun. He was between lives.. _Shall we talk about tea cups and time and the rules of disorder?_ Will breathed in the silence, felt it hollowing him out even more. He put a tea kettle on the small gas stove and poured some instant coffee in a mug. He stared into nothing, waiting for the water to boil. Time meant nothing here. It was warm in the sleeping cabin, the boat's scent was stronger. Will hung up his coat and put the coffee down on a small shelf between two stools which served as a table. The cabin had two bunks, the top one was untouched, as he had only slept sitting up for a while. Hannibal was asleep on the lower bunk. Will stood silently, his arms folded, and watched him. He hadn't moved, his body had remained in the exact same position Will had put him in. Hannibal's face looked washed out, expressionless, nothing like him. Will wondered what was lacking to make him look so strange to him now. The man had always been restrained in his facial expressions, after all, to say the least. And yet- Will didn't feel Hannibal's presence in here. It had been with him even when his psychiatrist wasn't around, had followed him in his dreams, had been almost palpable when Will was lying awake in his bed in Maryland with Molly sleeping next to him. Now that he was so close to him, Will felt alone. He looked at his watch and sighed. 15 hours, no change. He would have to move him soon and dehydration was a major concern. Hannibal's broad chest was barely moving. He was breathing. But barely. Changing the wound dressing would be almost impossible to do because of the man's considerable weight and Will's own diminished physical strength. Either way, it had to be done. Hannibal needed water, too, and without the risk of drowning. So Will might as well try to get him to wake up. At this point, he could hardly make matters worse, anyway. Will squatted next to the bunk, his knees cracking. He watched the barely visible rise of Hannibal's chest and counted..in..and out...Will glanced at a sheet of paper he had pinned on the wall. Breathing hadn't slowed more since last time. Good. Will rose a little and reached for Hannibal's neck to feel his pulse. He took notes and he wasn't pleased with what they told him. Hannibal's pale skin felt cool and dry, like soft paper. He smelled faintly of blood. Will closed his eyes at the sudden images the coppery smell brought back and he let his forehead sink to the edge of the mattress. When he moved again, his coffee was cold. Will watched the fog dissipate, as a light but steady drizzle set in. He still hadn't slept and he could barely feel his fingers now. He would have to get to work before his body gave in. Breathing in sharply, he wiped the damp curls out of his face and decided that it was time. _Time..a concept from another world. Arbitrary._ _When the tea cup shatters, you are left with shards flying through space... the construct of time abandoned, it could take the equivalent of a split second for them to reassemble. Or an eternity. Trying to make sense of it, giving meaning to before and after, to cause and effect, was pointless. Finally._ Will relaxed into the thought and felt some tension between his shoulders melt away. He went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. The bullet wound on Hannibal's belly looked alright so far and he had done an okay job tending to it, all things considered. The exit wound on the psychiatrist's back was more difficult. More uneven and ragged. Will feared that touch might aggravate it and cause a sort of reaction that he wouldn't know how to counter. Hannibal's body would not be able to endure a fever at this point. It was remarkable they were both alive at all. Will wondered if letting go of who they were had given their bodies more endurance somehow. When he reached for the kettle, his hand was shaking. He could renew the bandages a few more times with the supplies he had but seen as his strength was fading, it would be better to clean and dress Hannibal, too, as he had to turn him over anyway. He stretched and cringed at the shooting pain radiating from the stab wound near his shoulder. Alright. Another kettle of hot water and a few drops of lavender oil, a washcloth and a dry towel. Clothes were downstairs. He had aired some of them out day after they got here. It seemed like a life time ago. Will poured down a whiskey and picked up the heavy bowl with hot water. The fragrant steam made his eyes tear up and he paused for a moment before he went down the steps.

During his time at the FBI, Will had seen many corpses. Robbed of their dignity, exposed to the scrutiny of the cold investigation routine, they had glared at him with gaping, discolored eyes. Empty, helpless and often dumb expressions, void of humanity and yet they evoked compassion in Will, their inability to react to what was done to them triggered his empathy and he had left the morgue feeling bare and powerless more than once. Angry even, angry at the bodies of strangers for making him feel this way. Frustration eating through him like battery acid.

Hannibal's usually expressionless gaze had been unsettling for many, they shied away from him because they couldn't read him. A purely animal reaction to a trait usually inherent to psychopaths and predators. Will had found it reassuring. He had seen into the eyes of psychopaths, felt their lack of empathy like a draft- and Hannibal was not one of them. His eyes had been constantly watching him, intelligence behind them that defied all scales available to the scientific world. From their first encounter, Will had known that the man could see into everything. He was instinctively aware that despite Hannibal's inhuman self-control, the doctor had access to the entire spectrum of human emotions. In him, Will had seen a man that could feel what he felt without being affected by it. The overpowering wave of envy and hate that came with this realization, quickly made room for the desire to be calmed by the security that Hannibal's presence brought him. When he felt like he was falling apart so hard that any other human being would have been buried in the wake of their sanity's demise, Hannibal could see him , understand him and...prevail. More than that. Will's troubled mind had clung to Hannibal's like a drowning person to a life raft. Seeing Hannibal's unaffected interest in the powers that attacked every corner of Will's self, he had felt calm. _You endure- I endure. The basics of human safety._ Consequently, Will had never thought of Hannibal's power as a physical one. He was influence. One of the reasons, he couldn't see what Hannibal was, lay in the physicality of the Ripper's crimes. They were poetic, sure, but there was a lust in the killings, as well, in the ripping and cutting and tearing, that Will had never brought together with the refined detachment of his psychiatrist. Even when he knew, it was difficult for him to see. Until the Dragon. Will didn't even flinch when Francis Dolarhyde's bullet tore into Hannibal's flesh. He knew by then that physical pain meant nothing to Hannibal so all that Will felt was curiosity. Everything changed when Hannibal leapt onto the back of Will's attacker, all animal instinct and brutal force. It was the most beautiful thing Will had ever seen and seeing the monster in Hannibal let loose like that, instantly whipped his own blood into a frenzy. Their minds already entwined, inseparably conjoined even after three years apart, they became a primal force that could bring down civilization. Will had looked up from the ground, blood dripping from his lips and his entire being hummed at the sight of Hannibal feverishly staring back at him. Taking down the Dragon was a transcendental process, it had left him feeling open and raw, powerful but vulnerable at the same time. He knew then, he knew that nothing would ever come close, nothing would ever tear him away from this. Shaking and shivering, drenched in blood, was where he had always been headed, where he belonged. This was where he ended and where he began. _Shiva is both destroyer and benefactor._ He saw Hannibal in his entirety for the first time that moment- the ghost-like whisper in his brain, the omnipresent power that had led and hurt him, broken him down and built him up again, had materialized. Hannibal was muscle and blood and sweat and tears, he was teeth ripping out a grown man's jugular and heaving chest and blown pupils, taking him in and drawing him close. Will came to him, clung to him, touched him, overwhelmed by how solid and alive he was. He felt his heart beat against his cheek. _Feel me, mold me, give me form._ Will closed his eyes, feeling his heart beat faster even now, thinking about it. The alcohol had warmed him a little but it was the memory of Hannibal's pulse against his face that had brought his spirit back to life.

 

 

He sat down on the bunk, his hips grazing Hannibal's side slightly. The body before him showed nothing of the monster that had lurked within, it was cool and calm. Will touched the spot where he had leaned his head against, carefully ran his fingers over the grey sweater now crusted with dried blood. The Dragon's blood, Hannibal's and his own. Will spread out his hand. _There_. Holding his own breath, he could feel him Hannibal's under his palm. Will looked at the angular face, perfectly still. _Where are you now? Palermo? Walking the cool majestic stone halls of museums? Can you see me there?_ Without taking his eyes of the sleeping man _,_ he reached into the scalding water, grabbed the wash cloth and wrung it out. The skin of Will's hand turned bright pink. Making sure the cloth was cooled in the air he folded it and carefully dabbed Hannibal's bottom lip, wiping off specs of blood and dust, the soft flesh regaining some of its color under the touch. “Okay. Alright. Let's get this over with before I need another drink..” Will muttered, either to Hannibal or to himself, it hardly mattered. He put the wash cloth on the brim of the bowl and pulled at the hem of Hannibal's sweater to get it over his head. It turned out to be even more difficult than he had expected. Will sighed and gently slapped Hannibal's cheek, then a little harder. Then he pinched his upper arm. Hannibal showed no reaction. There was no waking him up. After checking Hannibal's vitals again, Will decided not to try anymore. _Wherever you are, come back when it's safe to come back._ He managed to take off the sweater eventually and felt drops of sweat running down his back. The dressing around Hannibal's waist looked stained. “'Bout time we did this.”, Will mumbled. He found that talking as if Hannibal could hear him made him feel less uncomfortable. And who knew, maybe he could hear him. “Would be a hell of a lot easier if you would snap out of it and help me, though.” The belly wound looked better than Will had dared to hope. He made a pleased sound and rummaged through the emergency kit he had placed on the floor. “This is gonna sting but something tells me you can take it.” He cleaned the wound and put a new patch on, before he climbed off the bunk to turn Hannibal on his side as well as he could without blocking his airway. Muttering and cursing under his breath, he got the heavy slack body into a position stable enough to get proper access to the exit wound. Biting his lip, Will fixed this wound as well and let out a sharp breath when he finished. Then he dipped the wash cloth into the water which was merely lukewarm now, and ran it over Hannibal's broad shoulders and down his back, avoiding the new patch. He tried not to stop and look at the round ragged scar that the Verger branding iron had left behind, flushing at the thought of this proud man being degraded like that by the clammy hands of Mason's minion. After putting his patient back in his initial position, Will wiped the sweat from his forehead and brushed Hannibal's hair back. “There. All patched up. Tell you what, you stay here and I'll get the scotch and more water.” He took the blanket from his bunk and covered Hannibal with it, letting his eyes wander over the man's chest which was covered in bruises, turning from purple to green and yellow and cuts and scratches of several degrees. Will's own torso looked similar, possibly worse. He hadn't even thought about how badly they were hurt, not really. He had been in a haze, taking one step after another, walking through the fog between trance and consciousness. Having seen Hannibal's body he got a glimpse of reality and he longed to go back into that haze. Two more fingers of whisky made it better. Right until he had put the hot water bowl down next to Hannibal's bunk again and he realized what he was about to do. _At one point, thinking about killing you became a part of my life. Choking you, cutting you, feeling the life you've spent hurting others leave your body. Why does this seem more cruel than killing you?_

Will took a deep breath and removed the blanket. Then he opened button and zipper of Hannibal's trousers and reached under his buttocks to drag them down, taking his underwear down with it. Feeling the weight of the man's legs alone, Will realized once more how strong Hannibal was. _You even carried me, didn't you? You carried me home. And when I woke up, I told you to go. And you left._ Thoughtfully, Will began to run the wet cloth over Hannibal's body, gently, at first. He washed out minor scratches he hadn't noticed until now and rubbed at spots where sand and dried tang from the shore stuck his skin. He quickly forgot how uncomfortable the idea of touching Hannibal had made him and watched as the skin turned slightly pink and warm underneath his hands. Hannibal had taken good care of his body even in prison, kept it in shape like he would sharpen his knives back in Baltimore. The thought filled Will with a strange sense of pride. _Nothing would ever break you._ The simple, slightly rough towel left the clean skin glowing. Will was pleased. It took him another ten minutes and a few curses to get Hannibal into a clean pair of grey sweat pants and a burgundy shirt. He wrapped the blanket tightly around him and inspected his handiwork. His own t-shirt stuck to his back and pulled it over his head and threw it on one of the stools, before he went to get another bowl of water, this time to clean himself.

When Will returned, drink in hand, the cabin's silence appeared thicker. For a split second, Will thought of his cell in the institution. Lying in the dank darkness, longing for a moment of clarity, he had desperately wished for Hannibal's voice to stop whispering from the walls, inside his head. Right now he wished for the same whisper to cut through the still and dense air of the cabin. Will sat down on the bunk bed and ran his fingers through his wet hair. He nipped at the glass. “It's fine. I can wait.” he said into the silence. _It's not like I intended us to live on in the first place. I took you down to end it all. Save the world from what we are. And what are we now? Conjoined? Hardly... I'm trying to find you like I used to, following the sound of your footsteps in my mind, always a little too late._

Will reached for Hannibal's chest but drew back his hand before he touched him _._ Then he went to get the whiskey bottle.

Will woke up later, disoriented and dizzy. His forehead was damp where it had been resting on his arm which was now numb. _Boat, night..booze...why would I ..something woke me..Hannibal._ Hannibal's mouth had fallen open a little more. The cabin was now cold. _Shit_ . Was he breathing still? Will jumped to his feet and reached for the lying man's face at the same time, knocking over the whisky bottle on the floor which made a deep gurgling sound, irritatingly loud in the silence. _Cold. You're too cold..No. Nononono. Don't you even dare._ Will's hands worked feverishly, did everything he was supposed to do, his mind and face were blank. _There, pulse. Fuck it took me way too long too find it,..but it's there. Little faster now. ..gotta take that down..where's my ..fuck the sheet, you're either gonna come back or you're gonna go. Like I'm gonna make a difference here._ For the first time since the fall, Will felt his own exhaustion down to his bones. The sudden jolt of waking up had blasted away the peaceful foggy indifference and cleared the view on the bleak entirety of their situation. It certainly would be wise to get the hell out of here. To not let Jack find him on a fucking boat, drinking, next to Hannibal's corpse. It would be so...anticlimactic. Jack would probably make a pun about it. Will felt the need to be angry, he wished to have the wrath that used to drive him throbbing in his veins again. It used to be directed at Hannibal for being destructive and cold...for giving him a glimpse of what the world could be like and then taking it away again. For leaving him alone in a puddle of blood, with Abigail dying under his trembling fingers. _“Did you believe you could change me?” I did. You know I did ._ There was no anger left. There was nothing left. Forgiveness had left him with nothing. Will let his head sink until his forehead touched Hannibal's arm. _Were you angry with me? For changing you? For not having the same hunger as you after all?Are you angry now? Is that why you're not coming back?_ Will noticed his left hand clawing at the fabric of Hannibal's sweater and he relaxed it without looking and left it lying there, finding the flutter that was the cannibal's heartbeat. The soft even whisper it had felt like before would've been worrying for anybody. But it had felt like Hannibal to him. Almost silent but steady, detached but persistent. This flutter was nothing like it. His heart was beating faster but not stronger. It felt..desperate to Will. Nothing in Will's mind could link Hannibal to desperation, not one thing. He spread his fingers and pressed gently against the other 's chest. The flutter was closer now, he could almost reach it. Like a butterfly batting against the ceiling. _Are you fighting in there?_ Again a very strange concept to Will. He had never seen Hannibal fight. He had seen him in conflicts, he had seen him defend and attack and destroy- but the concept of “fighting” included the possibility of losing. _You never lost. It's just not in your nature. But I have. I know what it's like. And this feels like I'm losing you._ Will relaxed his hand again but left it where it was. He felt like letting everything go. Beneath his hand that was now barely touching the man, the flutter stopped and Will could feel Hannibal;s body tense under his touch. Shocked by the suddenness of the change, Will rose. Terrified he stared at the Lithuanian's ashen face. _This is why I woke up before. Your heart stopped._ Before he could even think about starting any counteractions, the heart under his clenched fingers started beating again with a stutter. Will didn't dare to move a muscle. _Were you waiting for me to wake up? Is this your last game?_ A hint of the old anger, flaring up, quickly forgotten again, pushed aside by a sudden wave of affection. “ Hannibal”, Will spoke softly. “Listen. I've always found you. Because you always let me.” He gently cupped the angular face with his right hand and ran his thumb over the cool skin. “ If you won't come back- I'll just stay here, until I find you again.” _I sound so ridiculous right now._ Will smiled at himself and added: “For once, this is not a discussion.” He got up and just stood there for while. Then he took off his shoes, stretched his shoulders once and carefully climbed over the silent man. Squeezing in between the clammy wood veneer wall and Hannibal's body, Will nestled in. The bunk sank a little lower under their combined weight but he figured it would hold. What would it matter if it didn't, anyway. He softly put his head on Hannibal's shoulder, irrationally worried it could crush him somehow. Finally comfortable, he sighed, put his right hand back on Hannibal's chest and pressed down. The spot warmed a little under his palm until he couldn't tell anymore where he ended and where Hannibal began. _Isn't that how you found me?_ The heart beat slowed under his touch and Will closed his eyes.

The darkness was complete, felt complete. Endless and calm. Will swam through it, formless and without direction. When he noticed a stream of red seeping into the black, he slowly opened his eyes. His skin was warm and a soft summer breeze brought the scent of red fruit and leaves. He was sitting on the porch of his old house in Wolf Trap. A blue Volvo slowly rolled up the drive way. With joyful and graceful movements, a young woman got out of the car. Her auburn hair was in a loose braid and she was dressed in a dark grey school uniform, which looked oddly archaic against her youthful features. Her red scarf moved softly in the breeze as she walked up to him smiling. “You came home.”, she said, blue eyes fixed on the horizon.”About time.” Will, replied. His voice felt rough in his throat. “Been trying forever.” She looked at him then. “Easy to lose your way. It's good to see you, Will.” “You too. I'm ..I'm sorry I didn't give you the keys before I left.” She rose and smiled again. “Don't worry about it. I have my ways. I'll make some tea. You want some?”, she asked, heading for the door.

“Yeah...just..” He let his voice trail off and listened to her moving around in his home. Something. There was something...Will sighed. “Abigail?”, he called.

“Yes?”, she answered from inside. Will waited until she reappeared in the door frame. “What is it it?”

“Do you know know when he's coming home from work today?”

Her face froze. “What?Who?”

“Hannibal. When is he coming home these days..I'm..,” he laughed, “I 'm just tired I think.”

Abigail slowly let her hand sink to her side. Her expression was puzzled and ...attentive. “He's not here.”, she said calmly.

Will nodded , the gnawing suspicion in his chest rapidly growing into a raging panic.”He's not here...because I left him there. We had to go. So I left him.”

She kneeled down next to him and gently touched his arm.

“Take your time.”, she replied.

When he reached for the wooden surface of the veranda, it turned to water under his grip, the ground gave away and rushing waves dragged him into the ocean, salt and water flooded his nose and ears and throat as he tried to yell and his hand hurt from cramping up when he woke up with a gurgling sound coming from him. His cheeks were wet and his skin stuck to Hannibal's shoulder.

His own mind and heart racing, he realized that Hannibal's was beating still. And even more strongly than before. His body felt warm against his own and his chest moved up and down, reminding Will to breathe. Everything inside him was raw. He moved closer. _I had to leave her behind so you can get better. You need me to be there to get better..._ w _e truly are conjoined. I said I was curious wether either of us can survive separation..._ ”I'm not curious anymore.”, he said aloud.

 

The waves rocked the boat gently, back and forth, like time ticking away- and like that, nestled in next to the man whom he had wanted to kill not too long ago, little by little, Will let go. He could sense Hannibal getting stronger and he knew they needed to be on their way. But even going on deck seemed like a dangerously long time apart. So he stayed. He must have drifted off again because something tore him out of the peaceful darkness and blind panic roared through his limbs. _You moved. Oh no. Nonononono...not the heart again...don't...don't be dead...don't leave. Christ, I'm shaking._ Before he lifted his head, his hand was gently covered by another. _What the...oh thank god._ Will propped himself up on his left arm and cringed because his shoulder hurt. Except for his hand, Hannibal had not moved. But Will could see a change. Some color had returned to his exceptional features. Life, death, hope, pain, everything they had shared and done came rushing back to Will, surging through his body like hot fluid, burning his veins, choking his heart, he couldn't breathe. Tears shot into his eyes. _What if I'd lost you?_ His entire body screamed for something to fill the emptiness he had been living with the last days. Not something. _Not just anything. You. Oh god, I miss you so much._ He put his hand on Hannibal's cheek, ecstatic to find it warm again. Tears were running down his own cheeks now. Swallowing a sob, he suddenly leaned forward and pressed his lips again Hannibal's. They were warm and soft and dry and he nipped at them until he tasted the salt of his own tears. _How well we fit together._ All fears and doubts were swept away and Will found that he couldn't stop. Couldn't stop crying and kissing him, touching him , couldn't stop letting it all happen. Finally. He closed his eyes and without allowing their mouths to part, slipped his right leg between Hannibal's, still supporting himself with one arm, careful not to put too much weight on the sleeping man, despite the wish to completely melt up against him. He felt their bodies aligning and an image tugged at his thoughts. From that night when Hannibal wanted them to flee. Him sitting at his desk, that perfect posture, drawing. Drawing Patroclus mourning the death of Achilles. Patroclus leaning over him, his face just like his own... _how much we look like them now. You knew. Even then. You have always known. And I told you this wasn't sustainable._ He slipped his hand past Hannibal's ears and into his hair and kissed him more urgently then, completely losing himself in his emotions. Without even stirring, Hannibal raised his arm and softly touched Will's shoulder. He kept his eyes closed and began to slôwly move his lips against Will's. _There you are. Slipped back into the room like a ghost. Like you always have._ Feeling Hannibal responding made Will's heart jump, shocked him, scared him, freed him, made him hard, all at once. Whatever they had , had never required form, they were so fluid and yet, in this moment, this form was perfect. Will grabbed Hannibal's shirt and drew himself upwards to get closer. He shivered at the sudden heat between their bodies. _Closer and closer still. Never enough. We were always destined to become one, in the end._ Their kisses grew deeper, rapidly turned from souls entwining into something else entirely and Will didn't want it to end. He wanted to let himself be taken away by this stream until he felt Hannibal's lips spreading into a smile beneath his. Regretfully, he slowed his pace, tried to return to reality despite his racing heart and the dizzying blur in his mind. _Jesus Christ, I'm panting._ He lowered his head until his forehead gently touched Hannibal's chin and tried, in vain, to breathe evenly. Hannibal remained quiet. Now very aware of their position, Will didn't dare to move or speak. _Say something. God, please, just say something._ But there was no sound but the other's infuriatingly slow and regular breathing _._ Nothing _._ ”I'm sorry.”, Will finally mumbled. _I'm really not, though._ Hannibal took a deep breath. Keeping his head down, Will felt his chest rising under him, moving his own body, carrying his weight. He wanted to stay there forever. Hannibal's hand pressed against his side, gently, but persistent. Hannibal's voice was rough and low, his accent thicker than usual. “Never apologize to me, Will. About anything.” A new wave of tears streamed over Will's cheeks and he didn't care. _I missed you. I missed you so very much._ He moved his head a little to the side, hid his face against Hannibal's neck. They stayed like that for a while. “Will?” “Hm?” Will raised his head and wiped the left side of his face before he looked down at Hannibal. The Lithuanian's hazel eyes were attentive as always, no sign of exhaustion or pain on his gaze. _You're hardly human. Breathtaking._ “We're still near the coast”, Hannibal stated calmly.”You could have left days ago. Should have. To be safe.” Will felt the words vibrating in Hannibal's chest under the touch of his palm and smiled. _You loathe asking questions. Even when you do, it sounds like you're telling a story. You always know my answers before I do, anyway. Well. I know yours._ He lowered his head and kissed him again, very gently. Hannibal was prepared this time and opened his mouth slightly to welcome him. A shimmering web of new intimacy spun between them, a whisper of something, past and future colliding. Will smiled again. “I couldn't leave without you.”, he breathed against Hannibal's lips.

 


End file.
